Titanic Mark Two
by PerryThePlatypusFan
Summary: America stated, mouth still crammed with burger, "Well, this is repeating history, isn't it? It's past midnight, about 2:20-something AM, on April 15th. Isn't it kinda suspicious to you guys?"  England nodded, "Yeah, the ship was called the..."
1. PrologueTitle Sequence

_ The Atlantic ocean was lonely that night...lonely of lives...Though many bodies floated in its waters, almost none were still breathing. On a piece of driftwood-or wreckage?-a young figure laid. His auburn hair was frosted with ice particles, he stared up at the sky with his honey colored eyes, watching his breath turn into a mist cloud as he exhaled. He softly and weakly sang a tune, one he had sung to his friend a long time ago. "Germany, Germany, Germany is a really nice place..."_

_ He blinked as a bright light came into his vision. The young man rolled over onto his stomach to get a better look. His vision swam, but it was just enough so he could tell what the light was. He wasn't dying, it wasn't _the_ light. It was a light from a rescue boat. He heard a voice calling out. His disorientation caused him to only catch a few sounds, but he got the gist. "IS THERE ANYONE OUT THERE? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?"_

_ His trembling hand reached out and touched the shoulder of an older man, who was about mid-20s. His blonde, slicked back hair was also covered in frost, and he donned a forest green uniform. The younger man moaned, "Doitsu...there's a boat...Doitsu..."_

_ He tried to shake his friend awake, but got no response. Starting to worry, he checked 'Doitsu's' pulse. He was still alive, much to his relief. He looked back at the boat. The light was starting to fade, as was the voice. The auburn-haired man knew he had to do something now or he and his friend 'Doitsu' would die. Hesitantly, he slid his body into the freezing waters. He let out an involuntary gasp, shocked by the sudden flood of cold through his body._

_ He grasped his friend around the waist, and pulled him along. He swam towards another man in uniform, this one dead. The young man thought, _Another man's death is our survival..._ as he took the whistle from the dead officer. He brought it to his trembling, pale lips and blew. The whistle broke through the silence of the night, catching the attention of the man in the boat. He looked back, waving his lantern toward the sound. "COME ABOUT! WHO'S THERE?"_

_ Auburn-hair kept blowing frantically, until the boat finally reached him and 'Doitsu'. The man in the boat regarded them in shock. "Italy? Germany?"_

_ Italy nodded, pale as snow from the cold. "Y-y-yes...P-please, we n-n-need he-help..."_

_ The man nodded, and he pulled Italy and Germany into the boat. This man had dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. He also had very thick eyebrows and had a very formal appearance. He turned to one of his compadres. "France, move. In their condition, they need all the space they can get."_

_ The blonde known as France scowled and moved, grumbling and swearing in French. The dirty blonde gingerly set Germany down, pulling a blanket from under a seat. He covered the weaker blonde with it, concern in his eyes. Italy sat down next to his friend, shivering. Dirty blonde looked at yet another one of the occupants of the boat and asked, "America, could you hand me your jacket please? Italy's freezing."_

_ Sandy-blonde haired America looked at his pal, blue eyes wide with wonder. He started taking off his dark brown bomber jacket, replying, "Sure, Britt, here. Make sure he doesn't turn into an ice cube. Oh! Hold on..."_

_ He fished a soggy hamburger out of the jacket's pocket before handing it to 'Britt', who's full name was England or Britain. Depended on who you talked to. England put the jacket around Italy's shoulders with great care, patting the younger man comfortingly before going back to his rowing station. He picked up the oar, rowing in unison with his partner, America. In the very front of the boat, another sandy-haired man with a slightly large nose examined a map. He wore a scarf around his neck, and also donned a trench coat. He pointed at the map, saying with a thick Russian accent, "Ve are here, England, and ve need to get to America's land ower zere. Being in ze middle off ze North Atlantic is no picnic..."_

_ He glanced at America, grimacing slightly as the man took a bite out of the soggy hamburger. America straightened his glasses, smiling despite the tragedy they'd all experienced. And, no, the tragedy was NOT the soggy hamburger. America stated, mouth still crammed with burger, "Well, this is repeating history, isn't it? It's past midnight, about 2:20-something AM, on April 15th. Isn't it kinda suspicious to you guys?"_

_ England nodded, "Yeah, the ship was called the..."_

_**TITANIC: MARK TWO**_


	2. Chapter 1 Beginning of The Story

**April 17, 2045**

High-heels clicked on the tile floor of the world meeting HQ. Above the heels were long, skinny legs that expanded into nice, round hips. The curves of the woman's body were, according to any straight guy, perfect in almost every way. She wore a short brown skirt, accompanied by a chocolate brown business top. Underneath was a pink silk shirt and a brown tie. Brandie Delanie was her name, as the name tag over her left breast read.

Her auburn hair was short, and what hung down was pulled back in a short ponytail. Two locks of hair framed each side of her face. Rounded-rectangular rimmed glasses were perched on her nose, the glare of the lights partially obscuring her emerald green eyes. A pen was tucked behind her ear, and she held a notebook filled with paper under her arm, pressed against her side. She stepped into a dark room, her face expression-less. As a reporter, she had learned to suppress her emotions when needed.

Today, this was especially hard. She was interviewing the 6 notable survivors of the sinking of the cruise ship, _Titanic: Mark Two_. Behind her stood one of those survivors. He'd only identified himself to the public as Alfred F. Jones. He adjusted his own glasses that framed his ocean blue eyes. He waited calmly as Brandie turned on the light, revealing a table, a tape recorder, a microphone, and two chairs. She gestured to the table, stepping aside.

Alfred walked into the room, and seated himself into the chair facing the microphone. As Brandie clicked the door shut, he observed, "Are you sure this is just a friendly interview and not interrogation?"

He was being humorous, of course, but he made it a point to sound serious. Brandie looked at him with a look that would scare Julius Caesar before responding, "It's just an interview, Alfred. I'm not with any government branch. I'm only doing this because I, and everyone else, want to know what really happened on that ship. Also for college credit. Is there anything you want to tell me before we begin that you don't want published?"

She looked at Alfred over her glasses with a piercing gaze. She didn't know why, but she felt drawn to him...and he was already treating her like she was a part of him. Maybe...It was something about him... Alfred whispered something, she couldn't tell what. "Pardon?"

The blond sighed in frustration, covering the microphone with his hand just to be sure. "My real full name is...United States of America. America for short."

That explained the odd draw to him. Before the nation could say anything else, she got to the point. "I won't tell anyone, I promise...unless you give me permission, or you tell them, that is..."

America smiled. He liked this girl. He was proud to be her country already. He leaned back, resting his feet on the table. "Soo...let's get this interview done with. I'll only be able to tell you a little bit, just about to right when I got on board. That's when you should start with Italy and Germany. When you interview them, make sure they're always interviewed together. Italy keeps Germany's temper in check, and Germany makes sure Italy doesn't go all 'pasta' on people. You can follow them from there. They'll tell you who to interview next. In the end, we'll all be together in this room, believe me."

Brandie didn't ask how he knew this, she assumed he was just assuming himself. Besides, she would follow her own pattern. Then again...he was the country she lived in...She should follow his advice. She sighed, rolling her eyes, then went back to expressionless. She sat down opposite him, pen at the ready. She clicked the recorder on, activating the mike. "Ok...go."

America grinned wider. "Oh, it started out pretty much as a regular morning with England. I had flown over the previous week, and was planning to fly back home...But Iggy insisted we go on his newest cruise ship. The appropriately named the _Titanic Mark Two._ Until it sank, it was the current largest ship in the world.

"As usual, his breakfast cooking was awful, so I warmed up a cookie dough Pop-Tart and hit the shower. After we got our luggage and stuff, we got into the car and drove. Funny thing was...Stupid Eyebrows had hired a weird band to play music from that movie directed by the awesome James Cameron! Titanic, I think it was...Anyways, so if I heard music playing, it was them. Iggy probably nearby as well.

"You know...I could just show you what happened from that point on...Because one time when Tony brought me up to his ship to meet his friends, I found out how to do that! It's like the Vulcan mind-touch thing. Painless. Okay?"

Brandie knew he was serious. She looked at the recorder. "Ok...just make sure to interject a narrative or two so the mike will know what's going on as well."

America nodded, the curl representing Nantucket bouncing slightly. He put his hand over Brandie's, beginning the transfer. He noted, "Yeah, through the hand. Not exactly Vulcan, but Tony's not Vulcan."

Brandie closed her eyes. Images entered her mind. She tried to ignore the one of her nation in the shower, and laughed when she saw him shove a tuba onto the tuba player's head, as the band was getting on his nerves. Before long, they were at the Southampton bay.

**April 10, 2045**

Southampton was a busy city that day. It had been three years since the end of World War Three, but England and America had made quick recovery. Workers rushed to finish the final preparations on the _Titanic Mark Two_ before the four most important passengers arrived. Each were apparently representatives for four of the Allied Powers. Two were to arrive in less than five minutes, so the crew was very anxious.

A couple people in the crowd of passengers looked back as several beeps sounded. A blue Vauxhall with the Union Jack bumper sticker pulled into the lot. Inside, one of the occupants covered his ears as the band behind him broke out into a tune from an old movie from 1997. The older occupant, the driver, opened the door and stepped out of the car. He adjusted his bowler hat so the sun wouldn't get in his eyes. He turned back and glared at the other occupant, who was trying to beat up the band.

He pulled the younger man out of the car and shoved him toward the huge ship before them. He proclaimed in a north British accent, "There's the _Titanic Mark Two_! Wonderful ship, took us forever to put together! America, you git, PAY ATTENTION!"

He cuffed the blond in the back of the head, eyes burning with disapproval. America rubbed the back of his head, blinking at his friend with startled anger. He was secretly impressed by the ship, but he would never admit it to his friend. "Y'know, England, this isn't really that impressive. It's just a bigger _Titanic_, who really cares about that? You're just tempting fate. Next you're gonna start saying nothing can sink it!"

England shot a glare at the younger, arrogant nation. "Well, major modifications have been made in hull strength and rudder size, so technically, with a radar, it _is_ unsinkable. Bloody 'ell, why do you have to be so naïve?"

A French taxi pulled in behind them, quickly followed by a red Lada. The occupants of each car exited their respective vehicles. The occupant of the taxi has long, blond hair, though was obviously male, and blue eyes. The Lada's driver had sandy hair, purple eyes, and donned a creamy light pink scarf. The blond Frenchman skipped over to America and England, ignoring America. "_Bonjour Angleterre!_ I hope you're not planning on leaving without meeeeee!"

He said this in an annoying sing-song voice. England's eye twitched. "France." he curtly acknowledged.

The scarf-wearing Russia briskly walked over, smiling mysteriously. He looked at the nearest person's watch and pointed out, "Ve should board now. It's almost time for ze ship to leave. I still don't see why we couldn't go in one of America's or my nuclear wessels..."

England, still irritated by France, yelled at the Russian, "IT'S THE RADIATION! BLOODY HELL!"

Russia blinked, frowning for not more than a second before going back to his smile. As the foursome walked toward the great new ship, America almost managed to sneak off, but England grabbed his shoulder and steered him toward the ship. America sighed, giving in...for now. He'd find a way to escape this hellhole trip. The docking ramp was daunting, next to a ship this big. _"It was the greatest ship ever to the others. To me, it was just some recreation of some hunk of junk that I didn't give a damn about. Outwardly, I was acting like I was behaving. Inside, I was plotting away to get off this junk heap!"_


	3. Chapter 2 Love at First Sight

The ship's horn blew, the steam jetting into the air. It was heard even a couple blocks away, where a blond-blue eyed man was in a quick game of slap jack with the proprietor of the store they were in. The blond's traveling companion, a young auburn-haired man with a strange curl on the side of his head, watched with interest. The proprietor set card after card down. Then finally...a jack! Blond's hand slapped down onto the card. It was the last one he needed to win the game.

The proprietor sighed, leaning back, obviously shocked that he lost. He handed the blond two outfits resignedly. Blond handed haircurl the dress with green trim, and the cream headcloth. He went to the changing room and got into the remaining outfit. When he came out, his friend was having trouble with the headcloth. "Doitsuuuuu~! I need heeeelllllp!"

'Doitsu' was obviously a nickname, the way haircurl said it. 'Doitsu' helped tie the ends of the cloth so it would stay on his friend's head. "Italy...You really _do_ look like a girl in that dress."

Italy smiled, then took notice of his friend's wear. He had a navy blue cap, and a navy blue coat and capelet to accompany it. He also had black pants. Italy gasped softly. His partner looked just like one of his old friends...Holy Roman Empire. "Wow, Germany, you look like Holy Roman Empire!"

Germany regarded Italy in surprise. "You knew him?"

"Yes, he was an old friend."

The two were silent for a while. Then Germany looked at the clock, eyes widening. The _Titanic II_ would be leaving in 5 minutes! He grabbed Italy by the hand and ran toward the ship at full tilt. He and Italy dodged people, traffic and other objects as they ran to the _Titanic II._ They almost got run over by a Mini-Cooper, at which Germany yelled a few cusses in his language. Italy normaly didn't cuss, but the asshole deserved it: "_Bastardo!_"

They continued their sprint until the 3rd class gangplank was in view. They slowed down a bit and ran to the crewman at the door. "Identification?" he asked.

Germany replied, "Doitsu Beilshmidt and Feliciana Vargas, we're actors."

Behind him, Italy nodded. The crewman nodded back and waved them aboard. As the two rushed into the ship and to the top deck, Germany told Italy, "Unless we're alone you have to use a girl voice, alright?"

A very womanly voice replied, "Sure, Doitsu!"

All Italy had to do was raise his voice a couple octaves. It produced a cute, teen-like girl voice. Germany startled, then smirked slightly. "Perfect."

He and Italy raced to the higher decks, until they broke into the sunlight. Italy squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light. Thousands of people were gathered on the deck. A few were even Italian, he could sense it. He raced to the railing, and gazed out at the crowd below. Everyone was waving farewell, both ways. He joined in the waving. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Germany wave as well.

The _Titanic Two _pulled out and set sail for America's land. Of course, it would make a couple stops for fuel and supplies, but it would be in the free land in little more than a week. Not too far from Italy, England and company stood. England gazed proudly at his citizens, feeling overly confident about this ship. America rolled his eyes and left to go to his cabin. France flirted with every female passenger he could without England hitting him.

Russia sighed, he looked around. He looked at an individual with a green and white dress. The auburn hair was short, but it said sweet. The individual turned 'her' head and looked back at Russia. Those honey eyes...Russia found himself smiling a genuine smile. The girl was beautiful. He sighed.

Behind him, England was yelling at France, who was moving his fingers as if he were playing the smallest violin in the world. The _Titanic Two _set sail, and disappeared from the view of the crowds on the dock. The maiden voyage had begun.

**April 12, 2045**

Russia smiled, glad that here, in the middle of the Atlantic, Belarus couldn't get to him. He finally felt at least a little secure. Then, his thinking was interrupted by three knocks on his door. A creepy voice he knew sounded, "Oh brotherrrr~!"

He went pale. _Bela! How the hell did she find me here?_ Russia curled up in a corner, shutting his eyes tight. "Go awaaaaaaay!" he cried.

A male teen voice laughed on the other side of the door. "Hahaha, just kiddin' ya, Russia! It's just me!"

Russia's eyes snapped open. He grabbed his faucet pipe, a purple haze surrounding him. He frowned, opening the door. America opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when metal made contact with his head. He fell, rubbing his head where Russia struck him. _"Kolkolkolkolkol..."_

Russia smiled, in a pissed off way. "You don't...do that...ever again. GOT IT?"

America lifted his hand away from his head, noticing a trickle of blood. "I got it. I get that you're too much of a strait-laced guy to take a little joke like that! Commie bastard."

WHAM! Russia's glare hardened. "Easy for you to say...capitalist pig."

America winced slightly, wiping the slowly increasing flow of blood from his forehead. He got to his feet, glaring at Russia. He smirked. "We just ended a war, don't start another one now, commie! You've got an obsession, Russia...an obsession with fighting me! You want the Cuban missile crisis to repeat, is that it? Do you REALLY want us to hate each other for decades again? Well, then, FINE! I don't CARE what the FUCK will happen to you!"

He brought back his hand and swung it forward. It made contact with a CRACK! Russia staggered to the side, shocked by the blow. He slowly brought his hand to his aching cheek. It was red from the blow. As red as he had been during the Cold War. America smiled and turned. He walked off, saying one more thing, "As it should be, commie."

Russia felt a feeling come over him. He knew this feeling well, although it normally came whenever Belarus was near. He felt like he wanted to die. He really didn't want this to happen, he didn't want for America to hate him again...but his words were too much. Russia bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. He rushed out of his room, down the hallways...to the stern deck of the great liner.

He didn't care who saw him. He didn't care who he passed. He bumped into a startled France and England, and the Russian ran until he met the railing of the very end of the boat. He gasped for breath, recovering from the run. He had run his fastest. Again, he tried to bite back tears as America's words echoed in his mind. _"I don't CARE what the FUCK will happen to you! ...As it should be, commie."_

Russia lifted one leg and passed it over the railing, onto the inch or two of decking that spread past the railing. He now allowed the tears to fall freely. It didn't matter to him anymore. He passed his other leg over and turned to face the wake of the great liner. He gripped the rail tightly, and shut his eyes, bracing himself for the long plunge.

A soft, sweet, caring, feminine voice stopped him before he let go. "Wait. Stop, please."

Russia turned his head, spotting where the voice had come from. The girl from the day of the launch, with the green and white dress...Purple met honey, and his life changed forever.


End file.
